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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483232">Across The Universe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus'>octothorpetopus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Happy Aaron Hotchner, Not Canon Compliant, POV Aaron Hotchner, Pining Aaron Hotchner, World Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:40:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch would have chased Emily to the ends of the earth if he had to. So he did.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Across The Universe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Hotch wasn’t sure at what point he decided to go. He had been thinking about it for months, to the point where he had planned it out to the last detail. But then there was the matter of Jack, who he owed a trip to his aunt’s house, and that he didn’t actually know where Emily was. Every time he thought about pulling out his phone and calling her, he thought better of it, for months and months and months. And then the one time he did, he found that the number no longer belonged to her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then he remembered the one person he knew who could find anyone on earth if she put her mind to it, so he called her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Garcia?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sir Hotch? It’s been a minute.” Through the phone, it was like he could hear her smile, and he smiled too.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s nice to hear from you, Penelope. Listen, I need you to do something for me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Anything for you. What’s up?” Hotch paused. Could he ask her to do this? Did he want to ask her to do this? And then he pictured Emily’s face, her broad, white smile, framed by pitch-black hair, her eyes that saw everything.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I need you to find someone.” Garcia sighed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hotch-“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Please.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hotch, I’ve looked for her, but she’s smart. She doesn’t want to be found.” Hotch nodded. He had expected as much.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thanks anyway, Garcia.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“See you in a week for Christmas?” He chuckled.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey, Hotch?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What’s up?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you just a little bit.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know, Penelope.” He hung up and fell backwards on the sofa in his empty apartment. Oh, well. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. In the meantime, while Jack was gone, he could get through the stuff he had to do at home. And he would start with the massive pile of junk mail that had collected on the kitchen counter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Halfway through the stack of bills and catalogs, Hotch came across an unassuming cream-colored envelope. It was nicer, heavier paper than most mail, he noticed. And then he flipped it over and saw the scrawled, loopy handwriting he had struggled to decipher on a thousand reports, that had signed a half-dozen birthday and Christmas cards that he had received from twenty different countries. It was Emily, he saw her in her writing, in his own name and address. His hands shook as he opened the envelope and unfolded the heavy white paper.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Aaron, </em>it read,</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I haven’t heard from you in a while. Which is admittedly my fault. Anyway, I know you hate to get sappy, but I miss you. I miss everyone, but it seems like every day I see something and I think, “that would make Hotch smile”. I miss your smile, Hotch. I’m just writing to say merry Christmas, I guess, to you and Jack. I won’t be back for the holidays, so I find myself having plenty of time to write this letter (and more) in between glasses of wine alone on my fire escape. Give my love to everyone, and I’ll see you when I do. Hopefully soon, if you know me as well as I think you do. Much love from Stockholm, Emily.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hotch read the letter, and re-read it, and then re-read it again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Am I reading into this?” He asked himself silently. But there was no one on earth he knew better than Emily, and there was no one who knew him better than her. He got up and practically ran to his home office. He pulled out the legal pad he had been so fond of writing notes out on in his attorney days. “If I know you as well as I think that I do.” “Much love from Stockholm.” It was a message if he had ever seen one, and he had seen dozens.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hotch had his go bag out from under the bed and packed within five minutes. He grabbed his passport from the kitchen drawer, his car keys and wallet, and was out the door in ten. There weren’t many flights to Stockholm, but he found one, and ten hours later he stepped off the plane in Sweden. And that was when he promptly realized he didn’t know how to find Emily and he didn’t speak a word of Swedish. So he called the one person who could help him, once again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Garcia,” she answered, yawning. “Hotch, it’s two in the morning.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“In Stockholm, it’s eight o’clock.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What does that have to do with anything? Wait, Hotch, are you in Sweden right now?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, and as a matter of fact, so is Emily. Penelope, I need you to find her. Look for a driver’s license, employment records, whatever you can to find her address.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fine. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll call you back.” She called back almost exactly twenty minutes later.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So, Emily was working as a trauma counselor for a month or so, but her records end about a month and a half ago. I did manage to get a home address, though.” Hotch listened and scrawled down the address on his legal pad.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thanks, Garcia. Go back to bed.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, sir. I’ll talk to you later. Preferably when the sun’s up.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hotch caught a cab to the address Penelope had given him, but when he talked to the landlord, he found-</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sorry, she left almost two months ago,” the landlord said in strongly accented English. Hotch nodded and turned to leave, but the landlord cleared his throat. “Wait. You wouldn’t happen to be, ah, Aaron Hotchner?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, that’s me.” The landlord nodded and reached behind the building’s front desk. He pulled out an envelope, the same heavy cream-colored paper with messy blue ink across it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She left this for you.” Hotch took the letter and read it in the cab back to the airport.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Aaron,</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I’m sorry I missed you. I don’t know if my letter got lost in the mail or if you let it get caught up in that awful stack of mail you always let pile up in your kitchen. Either way, I’ve found that it wasn’t just DC I couldn’t stay in. I can’t seem to stay anywhere for too long. But again, you know me too well, so you know what I’m doing. See you soon, Hotch. Much love from Manila, Emily.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hotch folded the letter and slipped it into his breast pocket, right alongside the first one. So. The Philippines. Well, Hotch had saved well from early in his life, including his airline miles, and he had always wanted to travel the world. Besides, Jack was at his aunt’s for another week.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And the more Hotch thought about it, the more he realized he would do this forever if he had to. He wouldn’t leave Jack behind, of course, but if he had to keep chasing Emily through letters and airplanes, he would do it. There was a time when he would have denied that, and when he would have denied feeling anything for Emily other than friendship and perhaps a strong sense of family. But he felt that family bond with Penelope, with Dave, with Derek, with JJ, with Spencer. With Emily, there was something more. Something he hadn’t realized until too late. And then that something had taken over him, made him sick with love and the pain of not knowing how to find it. Before Emily, he hadn’t understood the term ‘lovesick’. But there was no other word to describe the feeling he felt now, that grew with every hour on the plane. He was closer now, he felt it. And he would find her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>One seventeen hour flight later, the flight touched down in the Philippines, and once again, Hotch called Penelope.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Where are you now?” She asked without bothering to greet him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Manila. What time is it there?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nine o’clock. A.M. You’re good. Twenty minutes?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sounds good.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Twenty minutes passed and this time, Hotch had to call Penelope.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Garcia? What’s taking so long?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It seems like Emily didn’t work for whatever amount of time she was there. I’m looking into hotel records now, and... got it!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>An hour later, Hotch found Emily’s hotel, and just like Stockholm, found her gone, with another letter in her place.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Aaron,</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>We have to stop meeting like this. Or rather, not meeting like this. I’ve only been here for about a week, and I don’t think I’ll stay any longer. It’s fine here, a little too hot for my tastes. If you’re reading this, I’ll see you in the next spot. Much love from Athens, Emily.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Damn it, Emily, can’t you just date your letters?” He muttered. “Back to the airport, then.” And to Greece it was. Another fifteen hour flight. Hotch’s legs were cramping and he hadn’t had a steady sleep in almost three days now. He didn’t know what time it was in Greece or in DC when he called Garcia, but she picked up anyway.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Where?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Athens. Twenty minutes?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Twenty minutes. Love ya.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As Hotch walked the crowded city streets of Athens, staring up at the Parthenon, he thought about how little he had seen. He never had a chance to travel the world, he realized. That was always more Emily’s speed. He loved this, seeing the world through her eyes. It was like being with her. He could almost hear her cracking jokes and reciting facts, probably in her best imitation of Reid, which wasn’t particularly good.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This time, Hotch found just what he expected. A letter. He had grown to like the letters. Not as much as he would’ve liked to find her, but he liked the way she smudged the ink as she wrote and made the lines a little too long when she crossed her Ts. He wasn’t Reid, he knew next to nothing about handwriting analysis, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know her from her writing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Aaron,</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I stayed three weeks this time. I hoped you would get here sooner. I would have loved to show you the Acropolis and the Parthenon and taken you to all the temples and museums. I highly recommend you take some time to check them out. Of course, depending on how far behind you are, maybe you don’t have time. I hope you find me, still. Please find me, Hotch. Much love from Mumbai, Emily.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Emily, why do you have to move across the continent?” He asked it as if she could answer. The letters were something, but they weren’t her. He had to find her, the real her, not just these damn letters. And the next step on that trip was India.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hotch, so help me god, please tell me you’re getting closer,” Penelope said as soon as she picked up the phone.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think so. At least, I hope so. I’m in Mumbai. She’s only two weeks ahead of me now, so she can’t have gone far. Check hotel records.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“On it.” This time, Hotch didn’t even bother hanging up the phone. He was content to listen to her type and him quietly to herself. “Hey, Hotch?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You really love Emily, huh?” He hesitated. Because he did, didn’t he? Why else would be crossing the world to find her?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes,” he said simply.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good. I love you both and you’re perfect for each other. Find her, and see if you can’t bring her home, eh?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’ll see what I can do. What do you have for me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, I have her address where she stayed for the last two weeks.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So she’s still here.” Hotch let out a sigh of relief.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, maybe. She checked out this morning.” Hotch got in a cab and told the driver to step on it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Damn it!” Hotch restrained the urge to punch a wall. She had left two hours ago, the hotel manager told him, and handed him another letter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Aaron,</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Damn it. I thought I left enough time. I hope you see me. I hope I see you before Christmas. Although I can’t blame you if you decide to give up and go back home. If you do, I’ll see you when I do. I’ll keep this letter short, and I’m not sure how many more I’ll write if you don’t catch up soon. But I hope you know I’m not trying to abandon you, and if you find me, I’ll be the happiest I’ve been in years. Also, tell Penelope thank you. I’m sure there’s no way you’ve found me without her. Much love from, well, where would I disappear to? You know me, Aaron. You know me too well.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At that moment, Hotch knew exactly where she was. Just one more twelve-hour flight away.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hotch had always liked Paris. Emily has always liked Paris, actually, and Hotch liked Emily. The truth was that Hotch didn’t much care about where he was.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Penelope-“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Paris?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, how did you-?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Please. I’m not a profiler, but I know Emily. Anyway, she hasn’t been here long enough for me to know where she is-“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s fine. I know. I just called to tell you she says thank you. And so do I.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re my best friends. I’d do anything for you. Go get the girl, Hotch.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thanks, Pen.” Hotch knew exactly where she was. She didn’t often talk about Paris, but when she did, she talked about the view she loved, when she could see the Eiffel Tower and the Seine from the same window. He bought a map from a newsstand and sat down to mark it off. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, but he hardly noticed. He didn’t have Reid’s geographical profiling skills, but he could mark off the area that could see both the river and the tower. Then all he had to do was find the apartment buildings in that area. As a matter of fact, there were only three. Only one had Emily, or rather one of her aliases, in their records.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was late and pouring rain by the time Hotch arrived. He scanned the buzzer in the dim, foggy light of the street lamps. She would use her own name this time. She had no reason to hide. So he found the button next to the name Prentiss and relief washed over him as he pushed it. And it was at that moment that he realized he had no idea what to say. But he didn’t have time to think about it because the intercom buzzed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Qu'est-ce?” It was French, but it was her. Hotch had to hold in a half-gasp-half-sob. “Qu'est-ce?” She repeated.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s Hotch.” There was a pause, and then-</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hotch? Oh my god, Hotch?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s me, Em,” he replied, and he found that he was crying just a little bit. His tears mixed with the rain that had now drenched his face, and for that matter the rest of him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hold on.” Something buzzed and the door unlocked. Hotch heaved his bag over his shoulder and sprinted up the stairs, disregarding the elevator entirely. He ran up ten flights of stairs and down to the end of the hall, panting and trailing water behind him. He pounded on her door, knowing he was being too loud and frankly not caring. As he began to knock again, the door swung open and his fist hit empty air, and behind that empty air there was Emily, staring up at him in slack-jawed silence. And Hotch still didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just kissed her. His hands were on her face, her hands were on his back, and he was steadily dripping rainwater onto the hardwood floors.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You round me,” she said at last as she broke the kiss.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m one of the best FBI profilers in history. Did you think I wouldn’t?” He asked, still cupping her face in his hands.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not for a second. Although I got a little worried there in Athens for a minute.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Please. Also, I had Garcia track your employment and hotel records.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hmm. Very smart.” She stepped aside to allow him in. Her apartment was filled with boxes. She had arrived mere hours before him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I was so close to getting you in India.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know. But I’m glad it was here.” She took his hand and tugged him through the near-empty apartment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Emily? Where are we going?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fire escape.” She crawled through the open window and helped him through. The rain soaked her down in less than a minute, but she didn’t seem to mind. From the fire escape, the Eiffel Tower was lit up in a golden spire, and the reflection danced across the Seine. He could see why she liked it so much.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hotch-“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Emily-“ They both laughed, and it came unbearably easily, as if they had never been apart.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You go first.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I need to tell you something. I need to tell you why I came across the world to find you.” He turned around so that his back was facing her. He didn’t think he could do this if he had to look into her eyes. “Emily Prentiss, I love you. And I didn’t realize it until you were gone. Which, I’ll admit, was stupid of me. It was stupid of me to ever let you go.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, it really was.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey, can you-? Thanks. Anyway, like I was saying before I was so very rudely interrupted, I found you, and I’ll find you ten more times if I have to because this is a few times in a lifetime type of love. And not being with you makes me feel sick. And I came across the world to fine you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You said that.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, I’m running out of things to say, so can you just kiss me and shut me up please?” Emily put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over his shoulder. He had to crane his neck, but she kissed him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you, Aaron Hotchner,” she said between kisses.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, thank god.” He looked down at her positively drenched clothes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So are you. Give me your bag, I’ll toss the stuff in the dryer, and you can hop in the shower.” Hotch stammered incoherently. “Please. I’m not proposing anything indecent. But you’ve been chasing me for almost four days. You need a shower.” Hotch shook his head, spraying water everywhere.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“In a minute. First, promise me you’ll have all your stuff unpacked by Christmas. You deserve Christmas.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Second... promise me you’ll let me stay for Christmas. So you’re not alone.” Emily’s bro’s furrowed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What about Jack and the others?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hayley’s family would love to have Jack for Christmas, and he’ll survive without me for a few days.” Emily bit her lip.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or... what if I came home with you? What if I came back to DC and spent Christmas with you and Jack and the guys?” Hotch felt his eyes start to water again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You would do that? I thought you wanted to escape DC.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I do. Kind of. I wanted to escape because I thought there wasn’t anything for me there. But that was dumb. I have you. I have our friends. So I don’t know that I’ll be back right away, but I’ll come back for Christmas.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hotch threw his arms around Emily in an uncharacteristic burst of excitement. Then again, he couldn’t help it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey, Hotch?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you. I never thought I’d have anyone who would cross the world to find me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“As long as you keep running, I’ll keep chasing.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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